Hide & Seek
by gostlcards
Summary: Set 10 years, post-apocolypse. Sam Winchester has no recollection of his life beyond the past 10 years, and he's fine with it. Until he moves to Chicago and meets bar owner Dean Johnson. Not Slash. Rated for Language.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Okay so, here I go again. I've been working on this story for a few months now, picking it up when I have the time, but it was something I did during the winter Hellatus back in December. My take on what happens _after_ the apocolypse. I figured i'd get it up, so I could motivate myself to write more...I have the outline all done and 4 other chapters in my documents, so its much more than I usually have when I start a story. Anyway, since this was started in December, spoilers up until Abandon All Hope are fair game...altho as the story goes on, there will be a few little things from spring episodes that find their way into the storyline. Either way, PLEASE let me know what you think...reviews help me to know that people actually ENJOY what they're reading and help fuel my desire to keep a story going. So yeah. Let me know what you think ;) Oh, and the name is based on the song "Hide & Seek" by Imogen Heap.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

**_2020_**

The air hung heavy in the hot Chicago summertime, the sunlight gleaming off of the man's black Mustang GT. He wiped his brow as he exited the small U-Haul trailer attached to the pickup in front of him, a box under his left arm as he lugged a stack of hangers with button down plaid shirts towards the building in front of him. He entered the empty one bedroom home, tossing the box down with a sigh and lying the shirts on top of it.

"We about done, Winchester?" A man asked, walking in behind him, a grin on his dirt and sweat streaked face. Sam Winchester grinned back at the guy and reached for a beer on the stairs in front of him, tossing it to the man, who eagerly opened it and took a sip. "Mmm. Read my mind dude."

"Yeah, we're done Mick." He replied, taking a beer for himself and swinging himself around the banister, landing on the stairs with a thud. He took a deep sip; it did taste really good. He looked up at his friend. "Like it?"

"It's nice. _I_ wouldn't want to live here," He added with disdain, rolling his eyes. Sam rolled them back, shaking his head with a smirk. None of his friends back in California could believe when he decided to uproot his life and move to the midwest. But they didn't get it; he had grown tired of his life on the west coast. He lived and worked as a D.A. in one of the most crime riddled places in the country and he was, quite frankly, very tired of it. "But it's nice." Mick finished, taking another sip of his beer, sitting down on an old armchair Sam had brought with him.

"You think Chicago's gonna be any different?" His on-and-off again girlfriend had asked. She sighed, rolling her eyes as he had returned the remainder of her things, a reality check that showed he was really leaving and that for once and for all, they were really done. "It's Chicago, Sam; the city of Al Capone, gangsters, drug dealers..."

"But it's not L.A., Marcie. And I'm just sick of it." He had snapped at her-and apologized later for losing his temper-but he just felt like he needed something different. And he liked the feel of the city, he did, but he wanted to live somewhere where he may be able to have a lawn and some space; maybe even find a nice woman and settle down with her. He was 37, and after all the hard work he had done to catch back up on his schooling, he figured it was about time. But Chicago was also a big city, and he'd heard it was nice; it was also the first place he'd gotten a job offer at some local law firm in the suburbs at, so he decided to bite. And here he was.

"So we going into the city tonight, hit the night life?" Mick asked, raising his eyebrows with a playful grin. "See how these midwest, corn fed chicks hold up next to the California girls?"

"They're probably in better moods cause they actually eat," Sam quipped. "But I guess that'd be good."

"Of course it'd be good." The man replied. "And I know if I don't drag your ass out to get yourself acquainted with your new found city, you'll just sit at home alphabitizing your BluRay collection, or some pansy ass shit like that. We're gonna have a good time, you promised." He insisted, pointing at Sam as he walked around the small living room that lead into the kitchen. "It is a nice place though," He admitted. "Bigger than what you'd get for the price in Cali."

Sam snorted. "For damn sure." He stood up, placing his beer on the step near his head. "Okay, fine, we'll go, but let's get some of this unpacked before we do. If we're coming back here tonight, I'd rather it not be a complete disaster."

The man snapped his fingers, a grin spreading his face. "Good thinking Sam; chicks hate a messy pad."

Sam rolled his eyes; wasn't exactly the reason he had in mind but he'd go with it. He put a work boot on a box and slid it across the hardwood floor to his friend with a grin. "Those are my blu-rays. They need to go on those shelves." He said with a gesture, then smirked. "In alphabetical order."

Mick gave him the finger.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Mary! No running in the house!" The petite brunette woman leaned away from her sink, hands covered to the forearm with bubbles and latex gloves as she glared warningly at her 4 year old daughter, who slid into place in the hallway. A pout quickly formed on her lips.

"But Sammy was chasing me! He won't leave me alone!" She whined, her foot dangerously close to stomping on the ground. Her mother's eyes narrowed and she stepped away from the sink, squaring off with her daughter.

"Mary Elizabeth Johnson, I don't care. Let him get in trouble with me then. He won't hurt you."

"But he pulled my hair and took Molly---"

"Hey! What is going on down here?"

Mary looked up, eyes wide as her father appeared at the bottom of the steps, towering over her with a stern face. Her shoulders fell. "Daddy, Sammy was chasing me, and he pulled my hair, and he took Molly, and he won't lemme alone!" She began to whine, her left leg jerking with emphasis as her voice neared tears. He rose his eyes to his wife, who looked at him with a sigh, and shrugged.

"I'll go find him." She offered, walking past her husband as she stripped the rubber gloves off, the evidence of her patience waning on her face. He playfully smacked her backside as she walked by, and as she disappeared around the corner to seek out their son, he saw her toss a small smile his way.

He looked back down at his small daughter and sighed. The little girl's eyes shone with tears, and he crouched down. "Hey. Come here." He scooped the little girl up, and she dug her face into his shoulder, whimpering. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but walked her over to the recliner. "You know you're not supposed to run in the house. Your brother got really hurt last time."

"But he started it."

"Mary," He began, his tone soft, but serious. "When that happens, you come get me or Mommy. He's not going to hurt you, Mary, he loves you."

"But he's so mean to me!" She insisted, shaking her head, blonde waves dancing. "An' he took Molly and won't tell me where he hid her!"

"But wouldn't you be sad without him?" Her father asked, eyebrows raised. "I mean, yeah, you guys fight. But what about just last week when that mean boy at school said something to you? What did Sammy do?"

"He pushed him down." She admitted.

"Because he was mean to you." Her father said. "Because he loves you, he was looking out for you. We boys, we can just be...rough sometimes. And it's not nice, and I'll talk to him too. But when your mother says to stop running..." He looked at her expectantly.

"Stop running." She finished. "Fine. I'm sorry Daddy."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to." He said, setting her down with a light swat to the behind to urge her on. "Come on."

He steered her in the direction her mother had gone, to the living room, and they stood in the doorway of it as they came upon her and Mary's twin brother, his head hung as his mother lightly scolded him, his sister's beloved doll in his hand, dangling. Her mother looked up, sensing their prescence, and then looked back at her son. "Well. There she is. Go."

Sam turned slowly, his head still hung, tears brimming in his eyes. He walked over to his sister who's back was pressed into her father's legs and thrust the doll forward. "'m sorry." He muttered, looking down.

"Samuel." His mother's voice was stern. He looked up with a petulant sigh.

"I'm sorry for chasing you and taking your doll. And making you cry." He stopped for a moment, and his mother cleared her throat. "And pulling your hair."

**_Aha_**. The man exchanged a look with his wife, who just smiled softly; she had gotten their son to admit exactly what he had done wrong. Hopefully that ability didn't go away as he aged. He then placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "Mary?"

"It's okay." She replied softly, half meaning it, but accepting the apology, now clutching her doll to her chest. "I'm sorry for making you mad." She looked up then, looking past her brother. "I'm sorry for not listening to you mommy."

"It's alright baby. Just remember for next time. Or better yet-how about there is no next time?" She replied, eyebrows raised. The little girl nodded shyly, then looked up at her father.

"Done?"

"Done." He replied. The twins exchanged a look and hurried off without another word, walking fast past their father. "No running!" He bellowed after them. He turned to face his wife, who leaned back against the couch with a sigh, closing her eyes. He walked over to her and fell onto the couch next to her, and she proceeded to lay on his shoulder.

"Those two..." She muttered, closing her eyes. "I swear, if it isn't one thing, its another."

"They're still little, Lil. It'll get better."

She sighed. "Oh, I know. It can be so exhausting sometimes." She blinked and turned her gaze to her husband, bright blue eyes supporting the small smile that played upon her lips. "I mean, with the bar, and them, and then grad school..." She trailed off. "We'll be rich one day, though, and none of it will matter."

He grinned. "Yeah, I know that's all that matters to you." She chuckled at him, knowing full this wasn't about money and sighed again deeply before pushing herself up; there was still work to be done, and he would be leaving soon for a busy night at the bar he owned.

He pulled her back down though, onto his lap and kissed her softly. When they were finished, she pulled away slowly, a small smile on her face. "What was that for?"

"You're awesome." He replied, smiling. "Just...awesome."

She looked at him oddly, then rose. "Thank you hon. I love you too." She pecked him again. "What time do you need to be at the bar?"

He sighed. "We're expecting it to be a busy night. Saturday, you know? And with the good press from last week..." He sighed. "You know, this could become something very good for us Lil." He got up, grabbing her hands. "Enough to help open another one maybe. You're dad really left us something here."

"Well, he never had this much success til you showed up." She leaned up against him. "Dean Johnson." She whispered, her hands on his chest. "Our miracle."

He smiled. Dean had come to the family 10 years before, after a stint in the hospital which left him with no memory whatsoever, but with a few thousand dollars on his persons from when he was found and brought to the hospital. Lily was a nurse at the hospital who seemed to click with him and had persuaded her father-an aging buisnessman with a mediocre bar-to help the poor man out and give him a job, and a place to stay until he was on his feet. Less than 5 years later, they were engaged; when her father died, he left them the bar and they had turned it into a successful source of income. After they were married and their twins were toddlers, Lily went back to grad school for nursing. Lily saw her husband as a turning point in her life, a point when things began to get better. Her miracle.

"I better get going." He kissed her once more then turned to go retrieve his jacket from the coat closet. "Don't work so hard, okay babe? And if the kids give you any more trouble, give me a call. I'll take 15 and come home."

"I will. Love you." She replied, walking back towards the kitchen. He smiled.

"Love you too. I'll see you when I get home."

The bar wasn't far, and during the day, doubled as a diner. He didn't really work during the day unless it was absolutely necessary, but the nights were his. His cook, and main bartender Zeke, was also his best friend and watched over it during the day, and helped out during the nights when it got busy. Like tonight was expected to be. Saturdays always were, especially when a rival ball team was in town.

He entered the bar, removing his jacket and throwing it on a stool in his office before walking back over to the bar where Zeke sat drying glasses. He looked up. "Hey boss. What's up?"

"Oh you know...just the family." He sighed. "Double scotch on the rocks, please."

"That good, hm?" The bartender replied, smiling as he reached for the fifth. He slid the cup to his boss who took a sip, grimaced and set the cup back down.

"Not bad though. Just getting ready for tonight. After that article, I'm hoping for some extra clientele. Don't know if it'll be best though."

"Yeah?"

"Place gets too crowded...I don't need some drunken asshole starting something. Especially with all the new stuff we've outfitted it with over the past few months. Those tv's?" He gestured to four flat screens hanging up around the bar. "They ain't cheap. As well as all the touch ups to the walls and shit we've done. I don't need some idiot putting a pool cue through a window, get what I'm saying?"

"Loud and clear boss." The man replied, a wry smile upon his face.

"Especially with this ball game. Who won by the way?" The bartenders smirk said it all, and Dean swore loudly. "God damn Cubs."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sam Winchester was not a fighter.

He just didn't see the point in it. He spent his days defending those who used violence to solve their problems in a court of law. However, it didn't mean he couldn't fight. And that was what puzzled him. As far as he knew, he had never been in a fight in his entire life. Since his memory of his entire life consisted of about 10 years, despite his approximated age of 37, he assumed that before that time, he had a little experience with it, especially with the various scars his body sported.

So, given his lack of known experience in that arena, when Mick got a little too sauced that night as some bar in the city, he wasn't exactly prepared when a fist came flying at his face.

"Hey, whoa, what the hell?" He spun away, the blow not landing on it's target. Instead, he grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it around and held him to the edge of a pool table as the guy grimaced in pain. "What the fuck, dude?"

The man hissed. "You're dumbass friend is hitting on my girl!" He snapped. "And he's just being an asshole, in general."

"So you hit me? How does that make any sense?"

But the fight was on, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mick trying to-_trying_ being the key word there-to defend himself against 2 guys that were a bit bigger, and younger looking, than him. Sam swore, and pushed the guy he had a grip on away as he strode over to his friend, trying to stop the fight.

The man behind the bar, however, was having none of it as he saw the circle begin to widen, surrounding the men as people began to watch. He jumped the bar, landing in the crowd and pushed his way to the middle just as Sam got to his friend and reached for the men who had hands on Mick; however, the man from behing the bar was quicker and as soon as he flung the men off of Sam's intoxicated friend, reached to grab at the man. Sam placed his hand on his arm to stop him.

"I got him," Sam began, not wanting to get in any more trouble than he was already in.

"Obviously you _don't!_" The man snapped, spinning around to face him, glaring. "This is my bar you guys are about to tear apart, and that?" He pointed at a television on the wall, the screen splintered. Sam groaned inwardly. "That is about a grand worth of damage your friend here just committed. Who's gonna pay for that, huh? Not me!"

"Look...okay, look. Let me get him home though. I'll come back tomorrow, we can work it all out. But he's done dude. I'll handle it though."

"You better." The owner spat back at him. "I want your info, all of it. ID now."

"What for?"

"So in case you don't come back, I know where to direct the police." He held his hand out. "I'm not fucking around. Now give it to me and i'll take it down while you get your friend in a cab. Neither of you need to be driving."

Sam nodded, unable to argue with the man and slipped his ID into his palm, along with his car keys. "I'll come back tomorrow for it. Consider it extra insurance." The owner nodded and slipped him a business card, which Sam took with tight smile. He began to move to the exit, the crowd seeming to divide as he dragged his half unconscious friend from the bar. He sighed. This was a _perfect_ way to start his new life.

As Sam left the scene, the owner made his way back behind the bar, grumbling to himself as he slipped the ID in his back pocket.

"What the hell was that about, Dean?"

He looked up at Zeke, then hung his head as he tsked. "Some drunk dumb ass from..." He slipped the ID back out. "California. Damn tourists. Fucked up that tv good. He's coming back by tomorrow to settle things though." He held the card to his friend. "You mind taking this to the office? Let me get in on the business? It'll calm me down."

His friend grinned. "Sure thing boss." He took the card, and headed toward the back room, where his smile faded. He locked the door and studied the card, listing the man as hailing from Palo Alto, California.

**_Samuel Winchester_**

He took a deep breath, releasing it loudly. This was unexpected. And not good. Definitely not good.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Okay, so, with THAT finale we had on Thursday, my muse for this story has fluttered away for the time being, but I'll try and keep up with it. Like I said, I have four chapters done, but with THAT FINALE (awesome, but omg my heart :/) i'm off track and have two one shots I'm currently obsessing over/trying to get out of my head. So i'll publish this now, since it's pretty much done, and go from there. But seriously. THAT FINALE. I'd like to reiterate, because of it, that I did start this story, complete with a WHOLE outline, back in December, so anything that happened after Abandon All Hope really has little to no effect on it. However, it seems now, the storylines may be a little closer to canon soon (which I thought really wouldn't happen) than I expected. Either way. Here ya go. I appreciate the feedback thus far guys :D. On with it!

Disclaimer: Oh Kripke. You silly bitch. Not mine. :D

* * *

"Oh my god, Sam, please tell me you have some aspirin." The man's voice travelled up the stairs as he yelled, a groan following soon after. "What the fuck did we do last night?"

Sam heard the question and his eyes fluttered open, squinting in the sunlight. A moment later, the pain erupted at the base of his skull and he groaned. Slowly, the memories from the night before began to flourish in his mind, almost as if they were one train wreck after another. The fight, the tv being broken...the bartender having to break up the fight and taking his ID card. He groaned once more; he knew Mick didn't have the kind of cash to reimburse the bar owner for the damage, but he didn't want this to get any messier than it already was. He had the savings though, as he had no family to support and was all about putting money around for a rainy day. His friend would just have to get him back when he could.

_Goddamn Mick_

"Dude! I have a black eye. Seriously. What the fuck happened last night?" His friends voice traveled up the stair once more, and Sam realized he was not going to get to relax any longer. He pulled himself into a sitting position, his legs thrown over the side of the bed and reached for his bedside alarm clock._ 10:45 am_. He groaned.

"You got in a bar fight and broke a $1000 dollar tv. Congratulations." He yelled back dryly, rising from his bed and pulling on a white undershirt. He manuevered his best around the still unpacked boxes into his bathroom, where he discovered an opened bottle of Advil from the night before and swallowed two quickly before heading down the stairs. His friend sat on the sofa, head in hands.

"Are you serious? Holy shit dude..." He breathed. Sam tossed the bottle of Advil at him, and he caught it, quickly twisting at the lid. "I gotta be out of here and on the road soon dude; like before noon. I take it we have to go back and settle this."

"I'll deal with it and get back to you. I don't think it'd be in your best interests to go back there." He replied, shuffling toward the kitchen for some water. He hadn't been that drunk, but with age came a horrible recovery time and he hadn't drank in a long time. Neither had Mick, which explained his intolerance.

"I would really appreciate that dude. I mean, I can cut you a check for 500 bucks now and get the rest to you later..."

"I don't care." Sam interrupted. "I just want to get back over there ASAP. Left my ID with him as collateral so that i'd be back. Plus my car is there...let's just grab some food before you head out."

They went to a sports bar in his surburban town in Mick's truck, and ate quickly. Mick insisted on paying for the meal and Sam's cab fare back to the city, along with the 500 dollars he could pay at the moment. Sam had taken the money without question, still pissed at his friends irresponsibility, but when they left the diner, Mick heading west and Sam heading north in a cab, Sam still hugged him tightly.

"As much as you're a pain in the ass, I love you man. Thanks for making the trip with me."

Mick patted him on the back, pulling back slowly. "Aw, Sammy, you make me all tingly inside when you talk to me like that."

Sam scoffed. "And don't call me Sammy. You know I hate that." He cuffed his friend on the back of the head, walking in the opposite direction. "Have a safe trip dude. Call me if you need anything. And when you get home."

"Okay, _mom_." Mick replied with a laugh, climbing into his truck as Sam flipped him the bird as he flagged down an oncoming cab he had called for minutes before. He climbed into the car with a final wave, and Mick waited until the driver pulled away from the curb and away from where he was.

He pulled away from the curb, heading south and in the opposite direction of Sam's cab and drove an hour or so until he entered northern Missouri before he pulled over at a desolate truck stop. He reached in his coat pocket, grabbing his cell phone and dialing quickly. It rang twice before it was picked up.

"Yes?" A woman's voice on the other end answered, short and buisnesslike. He cleared his throat.

"Um, it's...me, ma'am. Uh...I know it's been awhile, but I finally have something." He began. "You were right; they couldn't stay apart for long. He doesn't go by Winchester any more, but it's him...Michael's vessel for sure, the older one. He doesn't seem to remember anything either though."

She chuckled breathily on her end. "Well, well...seems the heavenly hosts were careful with their recycling. Oh well...where are you?"

"Just outside of the Illinois state line, Ma'am, in Missouri. I can go back and tail him though. Find another body."

"No, no that's unnecessary. He's a hunter no longer. He doesn't have the knowledge or the instincts. Just lay low and keep tabs on him. We'll move when we're ready." She paused. "Good job

"Yes ma'am." He replied as she hung up on him, hanging up and tossing the phone in the passenger seat as he pulled away from the curb. He blinked, eyes flashing black as he smiled. After 10 years, their hopes finally began to be on the brink of being realized.

The woman on the other end clicked her phone shut, staring at it. This was exceptionally good news; Asmodeus would be pleased. The civil war that ripped through hell was now well over a thousand years long in the pit, Lucifer's demise marking the beginning of a pattern of anarchy and fighting between the princes of Hell, all jockeying for power and the final say in that which happened downstairs. Not that it was perfect before; it was still hell, but at least there was a leader. Someone in charge, someone handing down orders and people following them. But ever since their Father was slain...

By _Michael_. She scowled at the thought, snapping her fingers as she leaned over the arm of her beach chair where she sat, dropping the phone in a purse near her. A young woman came running from inside the lavish home she now sat in, arms trembling as she held out a platter with a drink on it. The woman in the chair took it without making eye contact and waved her away, sipping it before lounging back, eyes closed against the sun.

_It was much more pleasant upstairs_, she thought. After thousands of years in hell, after thousands of years of fighting, she had finally been allowed, in the last two years on Earth, the opportunity to track down Michael's vessel. It seemed that he held the key here. Sam Winchester-Lucifer's vessel-had been a failure, an abomination on both sides, and while she had felt the urge to just kill him for his part in the failure 10 years before, she hadn't; she had witheld her rage and made sure she enlisted someone to follow him. Become a part of his life, and become a trusted friend. She knew, as she had before, that the brothers, no matter the Angels interference, would not be able to stay seperated for long. And she had been right, despite many's doubts.

She knew. If anyone could gain Dean Winchester's soul...or even kill him, and prove it, that person would have sway over the entire Kingdom. And if she was the reason her master was able to attain such glory, she could only imagine the rewards she would reap as well.

"Sarah!" She yelled, tilting her head toward the home. The girl who had brought her a drink earlier came running out, eyes wide with fear. "Can you please grab me the silver cup in the cupboard?" She blinked, a smile on her face and her eyes went black. "I need to place a call."

* * *

The cab rolled up to the bar and accepted his fare-plus tip, his eyes had said-with a smile, and Sam barrelled out with a thank you. He stood in front of the bar, staring up at the unlit sign above the double doors, the street empty behind him as the warm summer wind picked up trash and old papers from the ground, spinning them around him. He brushed his hand through his hair to calm it.

He looked at the area around it, and realized he'd been here before; his new law office was only a few blocks down, surrounded by stores that sold nick nacks and I love Chicago paraphenalia. He looked up at the name of the bar, realizing now that he had no idea what it was; just a card from the owner with it's address.

**_The Devil's Trap_**

His brow furrowed; an interesting name for a bar, ominous and unusual, but then again, he had heard of some pretty crazily named bars. He shrugged and walked in, his heart beat beginning to pick up. He hadn't really gotten a good look at the owner the night before, and even if he had, he didn't know if he'd remember it too well; he'd been able to help in the fight though, and that made Sam nervous. He really didn't want trouble, and wouldn't mind being able to stop by for a beer once and awhile; it was close to work, and had actually been the only place they had been all night that had felt...comfortable. The pool tables, tv's, barstools, food...it was a nice, homey bar, with old style rock and roll instead of the new age hip hop, pop mixes other bars in the area had been playing.

"Can I help you?" A woman's voice pulled him from his thoughts as he stood in front of the doors on the mat. It was sharp, but kind and had a thick Chicago accent to match. He met her eyes and she smiled. She was pretty even though she was not completely done up. He cleared his throat, and walked to the bar past a few occupied tables though most of the dining tables seemed empty. Empty was a nice term, and he guessed he shouldn't be surprised that a bar was dead on a Sunday afternoon. She smiled as he sat.

"I'm actually just here to talk to...well, I'm not actually sure. I think it was the bar owner." Her eyebrows raised. "I was here last night?" His voice raising in the form of a question as he clarified. Her jaw twitched and she seemed to bite her lip, and he felt the back of his neck grow hot, as if she were laughing at him. Yeah, she definitely knew who he was.

"Boss, the guy from last night is here!"

He flushed red and ducked his head. "Aw, don't worry. He's a lot better than he was last night. Can't say the same about the tv though." She says with a nod to the wall. Sam spared a glance and saw the splintered screen again, and in the light of day, thought it looked much worse than the night before. He half groaned, half sighed.

"Damn Mick."

Her eyebrows raise. "Mick? May wanna watch what you say around these parts, SoCal. There are quite a few irish in these parts."

He chuckled. "Didn't mean that." He corrected. "My friend, Michael; goes by Mick. He was the one who did the damage." His eyebrows furrow again. "SoCal, huh? You seem to know a lot about me."

"That's cause I put out a 20 on you." A deeper voice came from his left and he craned his neck to see the owner from the night before, his expression blank, standing with a bar rag over his shoulder. "Passed your ID around to let them know you were the one to look for."

He felt his neck get hot as he looked at the man, and now in his soberness, felt the nerves slip away when in reality, his anxiety should've increased. _That's weird_, he thought to himself, seeing as he should be more nervous. "Oh. Cool." He cleared his throat again. "Well, I have your money."

"Samuel Winchester, right?" The owner asks, walking toward him, hand outstretched with the ID between his fingers. "I'm Dean. Dean Johnson." He held his hand out, and Sam took it immediately, shaking hard. He watched Dean's face seem to falter for only moment, and he looked down at the grasp, before looking back at the man. He pulled his hand away, his composure retained. "Welcome back, I guess."

"Thanks. I go by Sam." He offered and Dean nodded, taking the stool next to him. "So. I just swung by the drop off a check and apologize profusely for our behavior last night. It's been a long trip and we needed to unwind, but I think we forgot neither of us had had a night out in forever, and we got a bit rowdy."

Dean's eyebrow raised. "A bit? Understatement of the year," He sighed. "You have the money?"

Sam nodded and began to dig in his pocket, pulling out the folded check and handing it to the man, who took it, lips pursed and brow furrowed. He looked at it for a moment and then sighed, nodding as he pocketed it. "That'll work. You new to the area?"

Sam nodded once more. "Yeah, just moved here from LA. Change of pace, you know? That, and the first firm to pick me up was from here so..." He shrugged with a sigh. "Here I am."

"Much to my chagrin." Dean replied, a sarcastic smile on his lips, and Sam chuckled at the barb. "Well, it was good doing business with you Mr. Winchester. Hopefully we don't have to worry about this again."

"Definitely." Sam replied with a grin. "I'll probably see you around again sometime, though, to give you fair warning. I realized my firm is only a few blocks away."

"You're more than welcome anytime. I'd say we settled this. No hard feelings?" He held his hand out, and Sam took it again. With that, Dean stood back up. "Well, as much as I'd like to stay and chat, we just got a huge order in. We'll see you around some time though."

"Yeah, thanks. Take care, Dean." He replied with a wave, and the older man barely nodded as he turned, throwing his hand in the air in a wave gesture as well. The bartener smirked at him.

"See? Told you he wouldn't bite..." She said with a wink. Sam swallowed hard, and pushed himself back off the stool, eyeing her name badge. _Julie_.

"It was nice meeting you Julie." He smiled at her now, genuinely, and she smiled back, a nod in his direction as she dried a glass from the sink.

"Duly noted, Mr. Winchester. See ya around." She winked at him.

He turned to leave, checking his pocket for his keys and finding them immediately. He sighed, and looked back once more as he opened the door to walk outside; she was glancing after him. He smiled.

He left the bar and took a right, walking down the street toward where he knew his firm's office would be. He vaguely remembered leaving his car there last night, thinking it would be a good marker as it was the only place in the city he had been more than once. The June sunlight beat down on him as it neared noon, the brightness of it increasing the intensity of the remnants of his hangover headache at the base of his skull. He squinted, rubbing his eyes as he bent his head and turned at the end of the block, preparing to head in the direction of his office, and was met with another man who he ran straight into, knocking him back. His head snapped up.

"Oh, jeez, sorry! I wasn't looking..." He apologized quickly. The man stood staring at him, a small smile on his face. Sam shifted.

"It's fine. You're Sam Winchester, right?"

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. "Yeah...how...?"

"I'm Zeke Miller, I'm a barback/bartender at The Trap. Dean's associate as well as close friend." He offered his hand. "Quite a show you put on last night."

Sam flushed once more. "Yeah...I'm sorry about that. I was actually just leaving. I got the money to him, for the TV. Should be good as new."

"I'm sure Dean's happy to hear it." He replied, smiling again as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So what brings you to Chicago? I mean, why would you ever leave sand and surf to come here?"

Sam shifted to his other foot, slightly uncomfortable with the question. He understood small talk, but it was a bit personal for someone he would probably never see again. He looked pleasant enough though; his hair was buzzed to his scalp and he wore a necklace under his shirt that Sam could scarcely make out. Dressed in jeans and a faded tshirt, he was unthreatening, so Sam shrugged. "Change of pace. California was nice, but it's pretty expensive and just...California. Chicago was just the first place to get back to me."

"Back to you?" Zeke asked, squinting.

"I'm a lawyer," Sam offered. "And the first firm to offer me a position is actually rightttt there," He gestured to a building just at the end of the block, where his Mustang sat parked out in front, pristine and untouched. "I warned Dean I may be back around." He joked with a smile. Zeke chuckled along with him, but Sam found it to be almost forced or somewhat disingenuous. As a lawyer, he was pretty good at ready body language and speech patterns, and there was just something...off, about this Zeke dude. "I'm gonna get going though. Still have some moving stuff to take care of before work tomorrow."

"Right, right," Zeke replied, nodding as he turned to head toward the bar. "Sam," He called as the man walked away. Slightly exasperated, Sam turned and rose his eyebrows at his name. He was surprised to see a sort of pain and conflict on the man's face as he stared at Sam. "I'm sorry." He finished.

When the man spoke no more, Sam's brow furrowed; the apology was oddly personal. "For...what?"

The question seemed to jar the man from his trance-like state. "For the questions. I know, it was little personal. I just didn't get why anyone would leave California. Heard it's beautiful."

Sam watched him, finding the explanation odd and somewhat fake, but he shrugged it off. "Oh, it is, but Chicago seems pretty nice too. Just...needed a change." Sam replied.

"Well, good luck then Sam. I hope everything works out the way you want it to." The bar back smiled then, and this time it was genuine. Sam relaxed. "You too Zeke, take it easy. Uh...see you around." He waved awkwardly and turned with newfound urgency, walking with bigger strides toward his car. He jumped in the car without looking back, and revved it as he pulled away, an odd feeling that this wouldn't be the last awkward conversation with the seemingly eccentric man.

Zeke, for his part, did not wait for Sam Winchester to leave. He turned at the same time, hurrying to the bar where he was close to being late for the start of his mid-afternoon shift, although he knew Dean would have no issue with it. He and Dean had been friends for the past 10 years, since the latter had begun working at the bar. It was surprising to most, how Dean had quickly warmed to him when with so many others it took longer with his memory gone and many of his mannerisms awkward and almost new, but they all managed and Zeke and he had just clicked. Dean also knew about Zeke's devout following of the Christian faith, similar to his wife's own, and permitted him to be a bit late for the Sunday shift if it meant he was practicing.

Which is where he had been returning from when he had quite literally run into Sam Winchester from the night before. He was hoping that he may be able to avoid the man, as his presence made him nervous. Not that he was unhappy to see him; it had just been so long, and didn't fit with the plan that had been laid out so many years before. Sam was supposed to live out his life in California, as a lawyer, doing exactly what he had dreamed. Perhaps, however, it remained as proven by Zachariah so many years before-the brothers would find themselves in the dark every time. Zeke could only hope they would not find their previous occupation as well.

It was no matter. The two would not remember each other without angelic assistance, as he had been informed, and so he saw a friendship harmless. But nonetheless, it still made him nervous; he had never bore witness to a stronger connection between two siblings before, brothers who were best friends, the only family which remained.

Not so for Dean, anymore though. Lily & the twins had fulfilled a desire long buried within Dean's soul, one he had no idea he had yearned for. Still, it did little to quell his friends worries. He decided he would just have to go with it; if Sam began to show up more often, if for some reason he became apart of Dean's life, he would just have to monitor the situation and then ask for further instruction from there. As of right now, it was of no consequence to him.

He closed his eyes and breathed in as the air conditioning relieved him of the suffocating feeling the humidity had left him with. He walked toward the back office of the bar and found Dean, bar rag over his shoulder and a clipboard in hand. He looked up and smiled.

"Hey Zeke. How was the service?"

His friend smiled back. "The usual. Lily wanted me to let you know that she and the kids went to the Anderson's for playtime or something. Said she'd be back by 5 to have dinner ready."

"That's cool. This order is pretty substantial, we may be here awhile. Here," He handed him a scanner gun and motioned toward a box on the ground. "Get to it."

"Sounds good." He grabbed the gun and knelt by the box and soon had it open, scanning the objects as he moved them around to make sure he had the full count. The silence was palpable, save for the beeping of the scanner, so Zeke cleared his throat. "So. Ran into that Winchester guy outside. Like, literally, right into him. You settle everything with the tv?"

"Yeah, yeah, he was good for it." Dean replied, head bent as he studied the writing on the clipboard. He raised his head, tossing it off to the counter as he sat back on a stool, picking up a half empty beer and taking a sip. "Seemed like a nice enough guy. As long as he never comes back and starts another fight, he'll be fine. Said he works nearby, so i'm sure we'll seem him around."

"Yeah, he mentioned that. I talked with him for a bit." Zeke clarified as his friends eyebrow furrowed. "Hey, did he remind you of anybody? I kinda get the feeling i've met him before."

Dean took a swig of his beer once more, his face screwing itself into a confused stare. "Nah, not at all. You know he's from California, right? Never met him before in our lives."

Zeke waved it off. "Yeah, yeah i know...I just...I dunno, something about him. A vibe or something..."

Dean pushed himself away from the counter, walking to another box as he set the beer down and picked up a scanner like Zeke held. "I don't know what you're talking about dude. I didn't get anything like that...but he was here when he got the job, I think. Maybe he came into the bar one day when I wasn't working?"

Zeke shook his head and shrugged, satisfied with Dean's obliviousness. "Nah, he probably just reminds me of someone. Nice guy though."

"Yeah, he was fine." Dean repeated, but Zeke could tell his mind was elsewhere. "Hey, you got this? I gotta run back to the house for something."

"For sure. I'll be here when you get back." He replied without lifting his head. He knelt, diligently working at his task as he heard Dean's footsteps fade away. Once he heard them exit the bar, he sat back on his haunches and sighed, hand to head. It seemed both were ignorant to their connection. His only concern was how long that could last.

And what the hell he was going to do, if it ever came to light.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry it's been awhile since the last update...like I said, the finale kind of killed my muse for this story, but recently, I've been thinking about it and writing some more. I finished the next two chapters after this, so i figured I'd post this one since it was finished, and ready to go; then, last night I went through and edited it in Doc Manager here, and it didn't take :/ So hopefully it does better today. As for the story itself, I think it's gonna get a little more momentum...at least it feels like that to me as I'm writing it. Hope you guys enjoy, and I promise, I'll try to update more...even though I'm horrible at it apparently haha

Disclaimer: Not. Mine.

* * *

"We're gonna head out Sam. You sure you don't want to come?"

Sam raised his head up at the sound of his name, smiling softly. "Nah, I'm good. Just want to get this stuff taken care of. Next time though."

The girl who had spoken to him smiled back, then waved before walking on. He sighed, lowering his head to gaze back at his computer screen. He had been at the firm for almost two weeks now, and he had made casual friends here, but he had never spent much time outside of work with them for various reasons. Mostly, because as a new member of the office, he wanted to demonstrate his dedication and good work ethic, so he was putting long hours in and scouring over documents in order to get caught up with the cases he needed to be familiar with. So far, his superiors seemed impressed.

He supposed, however, that part of it was really his lack of desire to be around anyone; he was used to being on his own, and was quite content with it that way. While he had had a few good friends back in California, the only life Sam knew was one that only included him. He had woken up in a hospital 10 years before with no memory of who he had been, or what his life had been like. It was only by pure chance that a nurse had recognized him as an old college buddy and filled him in on what she knew.

**10 years Earlier**

The first thing he noted when he woke up was the smell. He recognized it, but he wasn't able to place it too well; he just knew that whenever he smelled it, he usually did not end up enjoying it.

The next thing was _pain_. Explosive, searing pain. He groaned, and gasped as he tried to breathe in heavily, only to realize he couldn't with this tube down his throat. He began to cough.

His vision was splotchy at best, and he couldn't discern much. A figure at the end of his bed-_he was in a bed?-_moved toward him, speaking in soft, soothing tones, words he couldn't make out. She pushed him back against his pillow softly, speaking all the while, and reached for the tube. He somehow understood that she wanted him to cough or exhale as she pulled, and as she did, he hacked and tried to speak but found his throat too sore. As he blinked more, she came into a clearer view; she was older, but not too old. Her eyes were concerned but there was a smile on her face in an effort to calm him.

"_Water_..." He whispered.

"I have some for you sir. Just a second...here you go." She said, handing him a tiny blue cup filled with liquid, which he downed in one gulp as she pushed a red button near his head so a doctor would soon his way. She stepped back, taking the cup from him then picked up his chart. "So. Now that you're awake, is there a name we can get off you stranger? I know you probably don't want to keep being referred to as a John Doe." She was smiling softly, kindly and he smiled back as he opened his mouth to reply.

But no answer came. His mouth hung open for a second or so before he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his breathing becoming erratic._ How the hell did he get here? Where was he before this? He couldn't remember...he couldn't remember anything!_

"Sir?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. He stared at her, panic in his eyes.

"I...I don't know. I don't know what my name is. I...I don't know anything."

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

So they kept calling him John Doe, and they would redress his injuries as they needed, but he seemed to be improving by miraculous leaps and bounds with everyday. What he found out from the doctors is that he had been unconscious for about a week after he was brought in. Or dropped off, rather; he had been left in the entryway of the hospital, alone, with a huge gash through his midsection which had appeared to have been caused by a large blade of some sort. He also had various contusions and lacerations on his body, some mild internal bleeding-although whatever had caused the blade's wound had not punctured any of his major organs, which baffled the doctors. At the angle it looked like it had entered in, it would've gone straight through his heart, but his heart was one of the only things in mint condition in his body. As if it were brand new.

His head had also suffered some trauma, which was what had worried the doctors the most as he had remained unconscious. He had sustained a concussion and slight swelling of the brain, but after he had awoken, he appeared again in perfect condition. Less than two weeks after he had regained consciousness, they were telling him he could be ready for release.

The only problem was, he didn't know where to go.

He had around five grand on him at the time he was found-a ridiculous amount of money for someone left in the lobby of a hospital, and even more amazing that he had not been mugged for it.

"Maybe that's what happened," One of the doctors had suggested. "But whoever attacked you, wasn't able to get it."

"Well, someone had to have left me here." He had argued. "Didn't anyone see someone drop me off? I'm kind of hard to miss!"

The doctor had smiled at him. "We're pretty busy, John. No one saw anyone, and the security tapes don't show anyone with you. It was almost as if...as if you appeared out of thin air."

John-they had taken to calling him that even though it probably wasn't his name and he wasn't too fond of it. It just didn't sound right. He snorted at the doctors suggestion. "Yeah, cause that makes complete sense."

But it was all he had to go on, so John he remained. Until a few days before his discharge-right around the time a hospital aide was going to help him find some sort of menial work to get him on his feet-a nurse transferred to the Anaheim hospital from the Palo Alto area. The first time she had seen him during rounds, she had gone white as a sheet and almost dropped her clipboard as she read over his chart.

"What? Ms?" He began to rise out of her bed as she swayed on her feet, and he reached out a hand to her to steady her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah..." She shook her head, taking a deep breath and when she looked back at him, tears were shining in her eyes. "_Sam_." She whispered, her tone disbelieving yet sure. "_**Sam**_."

Sam. She wasn't calling him John, like on the board, but by Sam, which sounded a lot more familiar than John ever did. His eyes widened. "What did you call me?"

"I called you Sam." She led him back to his bed, setting him down as he looked at her in a daze, the shock of meeting someone who apparently knew him setting in. "You're Sam Winchester. I went to school with you...I was friends, with your girlfriend, Jessica Moore?" She said it warily, almost like a question as she pressed the call button for a doctor to come, to ensure he wouldn't react poorly.

Lindy knew there was protocol for this. She knew she probably should've gone about it in another way, but she also knew that her reaction to his face had given her away, that something about him was off. She had scanned over the file before she had looked up; John Doe, approximate age was between 25 and 30, the history of his injuries listed and she was frankly amazed that he had all but recovered. And she had looked up and seen Sam staring back at her blankly, complete nonrecognition on his face.

Not that she and Sam had been terribly close, but Jess...she closed her eyes at the thought of her friend. She and Jess had both been nursing majors and as such, had studied together a lot. They were both similar in their dispostion and got along well, and soon became good friends. As they got closer to being done, they were even able to schedule their rounds around the same time, so they spent most of their senior year together. Losing Jess had been really hard.

But she had seen Sam enough, and they both considered the other friends. When Jess had died, he had disappeared-dropped off the map, and no one knew where he went or why. They just knew he had needed a break-which was understandable, in a way. He was hard up for that girl, ready to buy a ring and everything, and then everything had literally gone up in flames.

She sat him on the bed, and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes full of questions, most of which she couldn't answer.

But she could try.

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

He would be forever thankful for Lindy. She had filled in so many blanks, and was one of the friends he was intent on keeping strict correspondence with now that he wasn't in California. She had given him his name, some of his history and a jumping off point to start his new life. He had apparently finished with his undergrad at Stanford, and was getting ready to apply for their law school when his girlfriend had died in a tragic apartment fire. Sam, along with another man that Lindy didn't know, had left quietly after the funeral had been held, disappearing from their lives without much word back.

His first order of business, as he left the hospital, was to visit Stanford where he scoured the records to understand more about himself and his life. Unfortunately, insisting that he was Sam Winchester wasn't enough to get him the information he needed, so he attempted the one thing that came to his mind.

He broke into the main office of the registrar after it closed for the day, and hacked into the school records.

He remembered thinking that not only was it odd it was as it came to him, but that he was _good_ at it. He couldn't remember his birthday by himself, or anything about his family, but he could commit a felony. Regardless, he was able to find what he needed. He had graduated a semester early from taking on an increased workload, with a Bachelor's in Political Science with a minor in Sociology, with honors, on a full scholarship. To Stanford. He knew enough to be impressed with himself.

There was no information, however, about his personal life. His social was not listed, nor was there anything that could really tell him if he had any family out there, or even better, what his life had been like in the 5 years since he left Stanford.

However, in the year before he left Stanford, he was busy; he graduated in December of '04 and spent the next 8 months working in a law firm to garner experience as he applied to various law schools. There was an offer letter from the law school at Stanford, for an interview dated November 3 of 2005. From there, there was nothing.

What the hell had happened?

Lindy had filled him in about his girlfriend Jessica. She had shown him pictures, told him stories about bowling nights, and drunken outings, hoping a funny story may jog a memory, but it never took. The pictures were evidence that she was beautiful, and it was obvious he had loved her. He supposed there was a part of him that was sad still about what happened to her, even if he didn't remember it.

He debated on what his next move would be, and decided the first thing he had to do was to get a job. He decided to start small; he walked into a few restaurants before finding an opening as a bartender/waiter and he went from there. He used the money he had to get a small studio apartment in one of the more run down area's of Palo Alto as he saved up, and after months and months of reading up on some of his studies, he found the subject matter easy to recall and familiar. It was frustrating to him that this seemed to be somewhere in his mind, but the things he would deem important-friends, family-were a complete black hole.

"It will come to you, Sam. Just be patient." Lindy would urge over the phone, suggesting he begin to make friends, try and go out. Make a life for himself. Because she felt, even if he knew she'd never come out and say it, he had to move forward and stop worrying about the past because dwelling on something he wasn't even sure of would leave him a sad, lonely, bitter old man. And she was right.

After months of working at his restaurant, he revisited the law firm he had apparently interned at, feeling confident in his ability to retain the information he had reviewed. He had walked in, awkward and nervous, deciding he would use the excuse of a 'family emergency' to explain his failure to excel in the path he had chosen for himself, and hopefully be able to talk his way back into a position.

He found he didn't have to; one of the partners recognized him immediately, and greeted him with a smile and a handshake. His resume was even unnecessary, apparently, as his past performance at the firm had been impeccable. The man offered him a job, and Sam decided to keep his current predicament a secret unless it became necessary that he explain his situation. It never did, though; he seemed to pick up as if he had never left. The only thing that seemed to be a bonus of the position was that the man who had rehired him asked how his brother was doing. Apparently, that's where Sam had gone after Jessica had died; on a road trip, with his brother.

_So I have a brother_, he had thought quietly to himself, after he shrugged in a non-committal way and simply replied "Fine." Or had, he supposed. It had been 5 years, and his scarred torso indicated that their life may have not been so easy going. There was something else though; a feeling, really, that his brother was a non-issue any longer. Especially if he was left, alone and unclaimed in a hospital. Even if his brother was alive and out there somewhere, their relationship had to have been shit to have been left for dead and had no one wonder where he was.

He gained friends quickly; he was friendly and charismatic, and quickly found a group of people he got along with. Within a few years, when he began law school at Stanford finally, he had met his on-again, off-again girlfriend Marcie in classes, and absorbed her friends as well. By the time he graduated and was hired on at the firm he had interned and worked at through law school, he was a completely different person than he had been the 6 years before when he had woken up in a hospital bed in the middle of nowhere.

Lindy would visit from time to time, but as she got married and had a family of her own, the visits were few and far between. She was happy for him though, and told him so, expressing how good it was to see how he had put his tumultuous, unknown past behind him.

"Not really anything I know of to worry about, right?" He asked, a small smile on his face. She pursed her lips.

"If it is meant to come to light Sam, then it will. Until then, enjoy this." She had laughed at him. "You're a successful young lawyer; the world is yours to command. Enjoy it."

That had been good advice, and fine by him for awhile. But he soon grew tired of California, and longed to explore new things. He wanted to get out and see the country, stretch his legs and explore. He felt confined and tied down, like there was more to be discovered. He supposed the fact that his past was so unknown to him had a part to play in that feeling, but he brushed it aside and applied to firms all over the country. He had heard back from Chicago almost immediately, and out of all of the places he had interviewed, enjoyed the city the best. His friends had insisted that he stay, had playfully teased him about having to meet new people and start over, but he'd merely smile awkwardly and wink. He was good at starting over; it wasn't scary for him. He almost welcomed the opportunity.

"I think you'll do great," Lindy had told him, the sole support during the entire process. He had apologized to her before he had left California, for being a burden on her for the past ten years, but she had admonished him fiercely in return. "We're friends, Sam. And as far as I'm concerned, the closest thing to family you've got. You stay in touch now, you hear me?"

As he prepared to leave his new office, the clock reading almost 10 pm on this Thursday night, he sighed and chuckled. He needed to call her; he had promised to keep her updated on the happenings in the new city but had been quite overwhelmed with the amount of work the new job had brought to him. He knew she'd understand though.

He threw his messenger bag over his shoulder and locked the office behind him. The long hours had been self imposed for sure, but he wanted to start off right and make a good impression. A co-worker had half joked that he was making them look bad, but he just half smiled and shrugged, saying that he liked to keep busy. To be honest, he wasn't as worried to make friends as he had expected to be, and found himself perfectly fine when faced with the prospect of going home by himself, opening up an ice cold beer and watching a movie. Maybe he'd get a dog...a Golden Retriever had always seemed like a good breed.

He strolled the sidewalk casually, senses aware of the noises around him. He carried a pocket knife on him at all times; it wasn't a bad part of town by any means, but it was still Chicago. He was, however, quite a sizable guy and anyone who was crazy enough to attack him would still be hesitant to try. Still, he thought as he pat his pocket, better safe than sorry.

He came up a block from his car, the parking garage he used for work about 4 or 5 blocks from his office, and recognized the alleyway as the back of the Devil's Trap, or DT's, as many people called it. He had avoided the bar in the weeks since his run in with the bar owner, still embarrassed about the way he and his friend had acted. He had been invited by his co-workers more than once, including tonight, but the combination of his workload and his negative first experience had dissuaded him from actually taking them up on their offer. Maybe, he mused, he'd be good enough friends with them one day to laugh about it over a beer with them.

As he prepared to walk right past the alley, his ears seemed to perk as he head more commotion than usual. Instinctively, his head turned toward the alley and eyes searched for the source as he changed his direction and began walked down it. He heard some muffled groans, some yells that were almost indistinguishable over the noise from the bar inside and he saw two men knock another to the ground as his hand let go of what looked to be a huge bag of garbage. He dropped his messenger bag where it was and rushed toward the men, not even thinking of what he would do when he got there. But like he knew, he was a big guy, and when he stood a few feet behind them and pulled out his knife, they turned, suddenly aware of his presence.

"Hey!" He yelled. "What are you guys doing?"

They looked to be no older than college aged, and one was wielding a gun. Sam felt his stomach sink, but recognized the look on the kids face as fear and doubt. These two were no killers; they probably just needed some money, so he focused his eyes into a glare and lowered his head. "Get the hell out of here now, before I call the cops!"

They didn't need to be told twice, and Sam would've chased after them but it would've meant leaving the injured, nearly unconscious man on the ground alone and he seemed like he had taken a pretty good hit. He quickly made his way to his side, and gingerly touched him, not wanting to disturb or hurt him more than he was.

The man let out a his of pain, but began to roll over, his eyes squinting in the dim light as blood flowed from a crack in his head. Sam winced. "Dude, looks like you took a pretty nasty hit. Let me go get someone inside..."

"Winchester?" The man whispered, disbelief and surprise in his tone. Sam looked closer.

"Dean? The bar owner, Dean?" He asked, eyes widening. "Oh shit, man...you know, let me go get your friend Zeke..."

"No!" Dean began to shake his head, trying to push himself up. "No, it's busy...someone needs to stay..." He sighed, lowering himself back slowly. "Ow."

"Dude, you need a doctor. Looks like they split you open pretty good..."

"My wife's a nurse, I live right down the block. Just get me there, she'll take care of it."

Sam stared at the man, wincing on the ground, then looked back at the closed door of the bar. Surely someone would begin to wonder where the man had gone, but probably not for awhile. Not that he was thinking of leaving him; he would certainly take him home, especially if he was so close, but he wondered what his friends would think, or if they'd begin to worry when he didn't come back in from the alley.

"I'll call him later, just get me home, please." Dean ground out, as if reading the man's thoughts. Sam, no other real doubts present, shrugged and bent down to help the man up. He threw one arm over his shoulder and used his body to raise him up, apologizing as he emitted a groan.

"Sorry..." Sam apologized quickly, stopping the motion to keep from hurting the man anymore. Dean merely shook his head.

"No worries," Dean croaked. "You're just really, freakin' tall."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, guess I just ate my Wheaties." He hobbled toward the street now, scooping his messenger bag back up and heading in the direction Dean gestured.

"Well, if you ever talk to my kid, you make sure to tell him that. Can't get that damn kid to eat nothing that's good for him." He wheezed, his eyes beginning to droop. Sam lightly smacked his cheek.

"Hey! No falling asleep. You probably have a concussion or something..." He trailed, boosting Dean up for emphasis. The man's eyes flashed open, and he shook his head with a hiss.

"Ah, I think they cracked a rib or two...fuckin' kids." He continued to swear under his breath, apologizing along the way, but Sam just grinned. He was beginning to like this man, the one who only a couple of weeks before had seemed the least likely to become an acquaintance of his.

"I wanna apologize, dude," Dean began as they neared his family's home. "I came down really hard on you when you were in my bar, but you came through real good. And now with this..."

His eyes began to droop again, and this time, Sam again hitched him up, the slap a little more sharp than before. Dean's hazel eyes snapped open, then narrowed.

"Trying to give me one on the other side, Jolly Green?" He snapped. Sam grinned, surprised at himself; most of the time, he would've had an urge to drop the guy where they stood for such an insult, but the retort only served to amuse him. This seemed to relax Dean, who settled into a throaty chuckle.

"Eh, we're almost here...it's that one, up there on the left. 1540." He threw his arm out and Sam raised his head to see a home only three buildings away, the light on the front porch on. He began to feel uneasy.

"Uh...is your wife gonna be okay with this?"

"With what? A complete stranger dragging her husband back, bloody and broken? Oh yeah, that'll be just peachy." He drawled, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Nah, she'll panic, but just tell her what happened real quick. Try and keep it quiet though...the kids are probably in bed."

"Kids? I thought you said you had one..."

"Nah, I have two. Twin 4 year olds, boy and a girl. Little terrors..." He trailed off into a chuckle and Sam had to smile at the amusement. "Actually, the boy has the same name as you...small world, hm? Girl's Mary, after Lil's mom..."

Sam nodded, even though the information was completely unnecessary to him. He decided it was better though, that he kept talking, no matter how short the distant. Keeping the man alert and awake was the most important thing right now. "And your wife is...?"

"Lily." He smiled. "My Lily...Yeah, she'll probably be pretty pissed about this, but I'll try and show her I'm okay. She may wanna take me to the doctor..." He trailed off as they neared the front stoop. Sam decided it would be easier to sit the man down on the first step and hurry to the door before he had a chance to drift off, versus trying to lug the man up the steps and support him as he knocked on the door so his wife would come outside.

He lowered him gently with a swift warning to not fall asleep, and quickly bounded up to the landing of the home, slowly opening the door and knocking lightly as he noted the bell would only serve to awaken the kids. He heard shuffling, but saw a light inside come on, and a tired looking woman with blonde hair piled atop her head opened the door.

"Yes?" She asked, holding the screen shut tightly between them. He looked down at her and smiled kindly.

"Ma'am...Mrs. Johnson, I'm Sam. I know your husband from the bar. He uh...he got in a little scuffle behind the bar, and I saw him on the way home...he told me to bring him here..."

She threw open the door at that point, a groan emitting from the injured man alerting her further to his plight, and she pushed past Sam. "Oh my God, Dean, what the hell happened?" She knelt in front of him, looking into his eyes, her eyebrows furrowing as she checked his head wound. She looked up at Sam, worry creasing her face. "Thank you for bringing him home...do you mind helping me get him inside so I can get a better look?"

"Not a problem." He reassured, dropping his bag just inside the home before turning and hopping down to the sidewalk. He helped raise the man up now, and with Lily's help, was able to get him inside to the kitchen where she sat him in a dining room chair and quickly applied a rag to his cut. She frowned as he hissed, and as she examined it in the light, groaned slightly.

"What?" Sam asked as she walked him to the living room, leaving Dean by himself. She sighed.

"I can't do anything here...he's gonna need stitches. And he probably has a concussion. I need to get him to the hospital. Could you...do you know the bar number? I need to get him cleaned up, but I was hoping that maybe you could call Zeke or Janie over here. The kids are asleep, but someone needs to be here..."

"It's a Thursday night, babe, busy!" Dean's voice floated in from the kitchen, and Lily frowned deeper.

"Oh, so what, I let you bleed to death? One of them can come here and..."

"We can't afford to lose one of them there. They probably wouldn't even hear the phone if you called." The injured man had raised himself up and limped to the doorway of the living room, leaning against the molding with a wince. In the light of the home, his injuries we worse; minor cuts spattered his face and small bruises looked to be flourishing, not to mention the blood dripping from the cut above his left ear. His wife scowled.

"Well, what do you want me to do? You need a hospital, Dean, especially with your history..."

Sam watched him shoot his wife a look that silenced her, and so they stood, neither knowing what to do. Sam cleared his throat. "Um, I wouldn't mind staying for a bit. I could do it for you. I mean, I know you don't really know me, so I understand if you're not too gung ho about it."

She looked at him in surprise and, immediately it seemed, began sizing him up. She was definitely being cautious, as he would expect, but he really hoped she'd be okay with it. He wanted to help; he hadn't really been a fan of the bar owner at first but now that he was helping him, he wanted to do more. His eyes softened as Dean met his gaze, his own brow furrowed in consideration. He turned back to his wife with a sigh.

"He's a good guy, babe, he could stay." He didn't know what it was about this guy, but the serious, kind gaze he had fixed upon him and the fact that he had helped him out in the alley lent Dean toward trusting him.

She stayed silent, looking between the two men then sighed. There wasn't much time to decide; besides, the quicker she got him there, the quicker they'd be home. And the kids would most likely be asleep the whole time. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. "Fine. But you wouldn't mind me keeping a hold of something of yours, like an ID or something, just for peace of mind?"

Sam smiled, and removed his wallet from his pocket, holding it out to her. "Here, you can keep all of it until you get back. I'll just watch some tv or something."

She took the wallet. "Sounds good. Hon, you ready to go?" She asked Dean, scooping up her keys. He raised a hand in a weak wave as he limped toward the front door before her, leaving his wife and rescuer in the same room. She sighed, her face reflecting how disoriented and frazzled she now was. "Sam, there are some numbers on the fridge if anything happens. Can you give me your cell number, so I can call in and check on you? No offense, of course."

"Of course, no offense taken." He reassured, and grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbling the number quickly. When he handed it to her, she smiled brightly. "Thanks Sam. Hey, there's some lasagna leftover in the fridge. Please help yourself."

"Thank you Lily. Get him taken care of...and tell him I expect a beer for this!"

She chuckled as she walked toward the door. "Oh believe me, you'll never pay for a beer at DT's again."

He was still smiling when the door closed behind her, leaving him alone in an empty, quiet living room. He turned slowly, becoming acclimated to the surroundings before he sauntered over to the furniture where almost fell to the couch, emitting a low sigh. He knew the kids were asleep upstairs and was a little nervous; he had next to no skills being around them, and frankly, they made him nervous. Plus, they didn't know he was here, and since they were 4, he could make up some BS story, but he really didn't want two crying small children on his hands without their mother or father to calm them down. He rolled his eyes; should of thought this through better then, he thought to himself.

He turned on the television, putting the volume low and sinking into the couch with a sigh. This certainly wasn't the way he expected his Friday night to be. He had to laugh to himself though. The entire night, he was sure he wouldn't be making any friends for awhile. Fate, however, apparently had other ideas.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine :D

* * *

Dean winced as the PA sounded overhead, garbled words streaming loudly from the corner of the waiting room where they sat. His wife sat next to him, hurriedly filling out a piece of paper, shaking her head.

"I hate these damn things...we really need to get one of these on e-record. But Erica said she could get us in as soon as we're finished though so that's good."

He sighed and nodded without a word, slumping further in his seat with another wince of pain as he pressed the cold compress they had given him to his head. He let his eyes droop for a moment, wanting just _for a moment_ to sleep, just for a _second_...

"Dean Johnson, don't you dare let me see you fall asleep why your worried wife is over here filling out that form for you." An older woman's southern tone came sharply, a hint of affection in the admonishment. He opened his eyes, squinting to take in another of the nurses in the ER, one who had been there for almost 25 years.

"Hey Clara. I wasn't...I was just..."

"You were just nothing. I know a possible concussion when I see one and we won't have you falling asleep until we get you checked out, am I understood?"

He flushed, startled. "Yes ma'am."

She smiled at him. "Now that's what I like to hear. You almost done with that sugar? Erica said you guys are next. Told me that that nonsense about you switching shifts with her this Saturday was just a joke, and not to worry either."

Lily looked up, tired face beaming with a smile. "Aw, I never took her serious for a minute. But yep, just wrapped it up." She handed the clipboard over. "Now, it looks like the laceration behind his ear could need stitches..."

"Lily, you aren't on the clock right now, I don't want to hear another word." Clara smiled softly. "Come on Dean. You need a wheelchair."

"Nah, I think I'm good. Made it out of the house alright." He replied, rising as he pushed himself with one arm. Though he felt a little woozy, he just took a few deep breaths and pushed through. He looked up to see both women staring at him, exasperated looks on both their faces.

"Your husband..." Clara began.

"Oh I know." Lily replied, shaking her head slightly. "Don't I know it. Come on tough guy, let's go." She held an arm out and he took it reluctantly, allowing his wife and the nurse help him back to a bed. He scowled. He hated the doctor.

* * *

"Well, that was completely unnecessary."

Lily scoffed at her husband's begrudging attitude. "Oh, so if one of the kids had a cut that needed 5 stitches, 4 bruised ribs and a mild concussion, going to the doctor would be completely unnecessary?"

"I'm a _grown man_, Lil. And you're a nurse. Surely you have like, butterfly stitches or something somewhere in the house. And what are you going to do for bruised ribs and a head thing? Watch me like he told you?"

"Oh okay, Mr. Grown Man, the next time something like this happens, I'll make sure to be okay with putting your safety and my career in jeopardy. Cause, in case I haven't stressed this enough, I can get in _big_ trouble if I do something like that at home."

Dean grumbled unintelligibly under his breath and leaned against the window. "Really? You're really acting like a child here Dean."

"I don't like the fuckin' hospital, and you know it Lil'!"

She pulled over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes and jamming the car in park. "Don't talk to me like that, Dean." She replied sharply, squaring off her shoulders. "I'm not one of your drinking buddies, and you know the best thing to do was to get that looked at. You haven't been checked out in years because of this, and it's about time you had a checkup."

"Thanks, _mom_."

She glowered at him. "You have to get over this. The doctors saved your life, and helped you when no one else could. It's not their fault you don't remember anything." She settled back in her seat with a sigh.

"I'm don't want to talk about this."

"I'm just saying, Dean, a lot of people don't like doctors and checkups, but they do it because..."

"You _don't know_ what this is like!" He interrupted her, squaring off. "I hate when they look in my records, because my four year old son has more information on him than I do. When they ask, if I have any heart disease or cancer in my family, I have to look at them, like an idiot, and say I don't know. And then they read my chart, and I get the pity stare. So excuse me, if I don't want to be reminded that I have no history, no first 30 years of my life."

She stayed silent. He sighed, burying his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap on you, but every time I go to a hospital...I hate hospital's Lil. And it's not just that I woke up in one 10 years ago with nothing to my name. There's something else there...I just don't trust doctors. I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath. "Just...promise me, if it's important, you'll go. Get those regular checkups and stuff. Dean, you're getting older...I hate to push you on that, and remind you of that, but..." She smiled and turned back to him, caressing his face. "I've grown kind of fond of you these last 10 years. I'd like you around for the rest of them."

He smiled at her then, ducking his head as his cheeks flushed. "If it will make you feel better...I'll make an effort."

She quickly pecked him on the lips. "Thank you honey." Turning forward once more, she started the car back up and pulled back onto the road as Dean leaned against his window and sighed, inwardly bemoaning his situation. He also hated forfeiting the wheel to his wife.

When they arrived back at the house, Sam had not only had a huge piece of lasagna (which he apologized for) he had done all of the dishes. Lily took the sight of an empty sink in with surprise, and Sam shrugged as a slight flush crept up his cheeks.

"Dude, you're making me look bad." Dean joked, a half smile on his face. "But..I'm gonna," He motioned toward the stairs. "I'm beat. You coming up, babe?" He asked his wife, eager to retreat to his room and fall into bed. She smiled.

"In a minute. I thought Sam here may want a ride back to his car, considering he probably walked a few blocks out of his way to get you home safe."

"Oh, it's really okay." Sam sputtered, holding his hands up with a smile. "It's just around where the bar is, I'll be fine."

"Kind of like how I was fine?" Dean asked. "Just let her help you, you'll never hear the end of it if you don't."

A resigned look took over Sam's features. "I really don't want to put you out..."

"Then let me take you. I won't be able to sleep wondering if you got back okay. It gets rougher around here, the later it is. And I'd hate for you to come across those kids in case there were more of them or something worse."

He paused a moment, thinking it over then shrugged. "If it'll make you feel better, then fine. G'night Dean. Hope you feel better."

"Thanks Sam." The man mumbled in return, already half way up the stairs.

The car ride back to the garage where his car sat was quick, but Lily took it as an opportunity to make small talk. "So. California, huh?"

"Everyone seems to keep fixating on that, but yeah. California." He replied jovially, a light smile on his face. "I just wanted a change of pace."

"The pace in Chicago is a little faster than most places."

"Change of scenery, then."

She sighed. "Well, whatever reason you're here, I'm happy for it." She looked at him as she stopped at a red light. "A lot of people would've kept on walking. Would've ignored all the noise. Dean said one of the kids had a _gun_." Her voice was reedy now, and nervous. He smiled again.

"Yeah, well. I guess I'm not one of those people. Maybe I just haven't been here long enough." He replied with a shake of his head. "Kid wasn't gonna shoot anyone. I'd wager the gun wasn't even loaded."

"How would you know that?"

"I know what killers look like. I've spent the last 5 years prosecuting them." He shrugged. "Not that it makes what happened okay, or anything. Helping him out...it really was nothing, Lily."

"Well, it certainly wasn't nothing to me." She said, pulling up on the side of the road where he had motioned her to stop, indicating this garage was the one. "And it wasn't nothing to my husband, or my children. Thank you, Sam." She looked him straight in the eyes, a film of tears there. "I don't know what I'd do without him. I know I'm overreacting, but still. Thank you."

"Well it was my pleasure to help." He offered, flattered by her graciousness. "Thanks for the ride Lil."

"No problem, Sam. Take it easy."

He waved to her as he got out of the car and gently closed the door, and she made sure he was in the garage before she drove off.

* * *

"Daddy, you have an owie."

Dean smirked as he set two bowls of cereal down in front of his children, their cups of milk next to it. Sam picked up his spoon immediately, shoveling the food in his mouth. His daughter, on the other hand, sat looking at him, quite serious as if this were news to him too. He chuckled.

"I do, baby. I uh...I fell down, at work the other night."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not anymore baby. I barely felt anything." He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Now eat up, we got to get you ready for school."

"School" was the term they were calling the pre-k class he and his wife had enrolled their children in, although it was more like an education day care system to him. Still, it prepared them for when they would be ready to go to school, and socialized them for a few hours a few days a week, which was nice on multiple levels. Lily was in the weeds in terms of her schoolwork, the load heavy and stringent, and Dean, because of the luxury of owning the bar and making his own hours mostly nights, was able to play Mr. Mom from there. He was able to straighten up a whole lot more and get stuff done around the house when the kids were gone, making it a little easier on his wife when she came home from a long shift, just to dive into her schoolwork.

"Are you gonna have a scar?" His son asked, wiping his mouth with his hand, to which Dean scowled at him. He sheepishly picked up his napkin. "Scars are cool."

"Yeah, chicks dig them." Their mother's voice came from behind Dean, and he spun to see her as she walked toward him with a grin, all the while eyeing the stitches with concern.

"They're fine, Lil." He whispered. "I'm good."

"I know." She rolled her eyes. "You guys almost ready to go?"

"Yes." They replied in unison, although it was evident from their disheveled appearances that they were not. She glanced at the clock. They had 20 minutes to get them ready and out the door.

"Am I taking them, or are you?"

"I'm pretty sure you have a midterm to review for. So I'm taking them." He looked at her pointedly. "I'm fine, babe. Seriously."

She held up her hands in defeat. "Fine! Fine, you win." She smiled. "I'll just eat my breakfast, and then get to the library."

"Yeah, you do that." He replied, a half smile on his face. The kids, it seemed, were done with their food and he clapped his hands together. "Okay, let's go. Up to your rooms, get you guys dressed!"

* * *

Sam had enjoyed his quiet weekend, staying in and going to bed early. He made it a point to call his friends in California and check in with them as he hadn't in a while.

"...so'd Mick tell you about the TV?" He asked a mutual friend, a smile on his face as he traced the wood decor of his coffee table. The phone was quiet for a moment. "Kim?"

The man at the other end of the phone sighed. "Dude, I haven't heard from him. I figured he was still in Chicago with you."

Sam's eyebrows arched. "Well...he's not. I mean, I saw him leave dude, and that was two weeks ago. Said he was heading home. You sure he's not in town and been lying low? You know he sometimes does that..."

"Yeah, I guess." Kim's voice was tinged with worry and doubt. "I'll swing by his place, see what's going on. Why don't you give him a call?"

"Yeah...yeah, I will."

He had hung up the phone, eyebrows pushed together in worry. It wasn't at all out of character for Mick to not call or to just kind of do his own thing and take off for a few weeks without a word, but he had told Sam he was heading home. For him not to have at least called, especially with him being clear across the country worried Sam just a bit.

He tried calling the man a few times over the course of a few hours in between making other calls to friends, but received no answer from him until the last call. Breathlessly answered, Mick explained that he had had a sudden urge to head north and explore the great outdoors.

"Of South Dakota? Seriously?" Sam asked skeptically. "There's like nothing up there."

"Are you kidding me dude? It's beautiful up here...serene."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay nature boy. How about you check in with sometime, huh? Kim and I have been a little worried."

He heard his friend laugh on the other end. "Oh, don't you worry, Sammy. I can take care of myself fine. But I appreciate the concern. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy."

"Ugh, I don't want to hear any details about what makes you feel warm and fuzzy," Sam began, a shiver of disgust running through his body. "And don't call me Sammy."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll make sure to stay in touch. Happy?"

He had gotten of the phone with his friend shortly thereafter and called Kim to relay the okay before looking at the clock on his wall tiredly. It was Sunday, and he had work early the next day. Though it was only 8 pm, he was exhausted. He had been up early though, doing yard work and making small talk with the neighbors, so he figured he should get ready and get to bed so he could get up and shower before work. He sighed, almost sadly, as he dragged himself upstairs. He enjoyed his life, and it's simplicity, but sometimes...he felt that sometimes, he was meant for so much more that the normal, 9-5 grind of the workplace.

It was a few days into the week when he decided to finally go back to the Devil's Trap. He'd walk by it often enough on his way back to the parking garage he used, and he'd often crane his head to look and see into the alley, wondering if he'd catch a peek of the bar owner, or one of his bartenders, but there was no such luck. He figured he'd finally just give into his nagging concern for the man and drag himself in after a long day at work on a late Wednesday afternoon, prepared for a cold beer and some food.

He knew it was weird. He didn't even really know the guy, but he wanted to make sure everything was okay with him. The more he had spoken with him, the more comfortable he had felt with him. Dean's attitude was usually something that would've gotten on Sam's nerves, but coming from him, was oddly endearing. There was a soft side to Dean's caustic approach, a very affectionate and protective manner in which he handled his business that Sam admired. He possessed a spirit of hard work as well, that made it evident that Dean was willing to move mountains to get things done for the people he cared about.

He pushed the doors to the bar open, the crowd decent for a Wednesday happy hour, many people eating food. He sat at the bar, feeling slightly out of place as he was by himself, but he shook it off. The girl-_Julie_-was there and she spun to greet him, stopping in mid-sentence. She smiled.

"Well, well. If it isn't our hero from the OC."

He smiled softly. "Ah. You, uh...you heard about that, huh?"

She snorted. "Of course I heard about. You think my boss comes into work with that kind of cut and we don't ask him what the hell happened." She rolled her eyes. "What can I get you?"

"Uh...I was actually going to get some food I think. Skipped lunch, early dinner, you know. Menu?" He explained, feeling like he needed a better reason then just checking on the bar owner.

She handed him one and walked off, telling him she'd be back to take his order later. Looking down, he didn't hear footsteps approaching behind him.

"We going to have to start charging you rent? You're getting to be quite the fixture around here."

Sam sat up, startled, and craned his head to see Dean standing behind him, a smile on his face. "Just kidding of course. How you doing Sam?"

"I'm good, i'm good," He answered with a chuckle, offering his hand. "I actually stopped by to see how you were doing. Get some food too, but yeah. You?"

"Good. They gave me some good pain meds so I'm set." He laughed, taking Sam's hand as he sat on the barstool next to him. "Our burgers are pretty good..."

"Nah, I like a little less grease in my diet..." Sam replied, looking up at the bar owner, who was looking at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Sam had to chuckle once more. "California, ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah. Well," Dean licked his lips, leaning over the menu. "Our grilled chicken sandwich is pretty good then. If that's your thing."

"That sounds good then."

Before he could turn to call for Julie, Dean had already taken care of it, beckoning the bartender his way and relaying the message. She nodded, asking if Sam wanted it any special way, and went to give the order to Zeke.

"You want a beer man?" Dean asked, reaching over the bar into the cooler, pulling out two beers. Sam shrugged in agreement, and took a sip after Dean popped the top and handed it to him. "I'm actually happy you stopped by. You uh...you're new in town and all. You have any plans with new friends for the upcoming fourth festivities?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, Dean's slight smirk and enunciation of the last few words catching him off guard. "Uh...no. I haven't really...I keep to myself, for the most part."

"Well, Lily wants to thank you for last week, and is insistent that we invite you over for dinner. However, I was thinking something a little less...formal. We usually go down to the lake for the fourth, catch some fireworks and barbecue, maybe some football and swimming. Not in that order of course. I figured that may be more laid back, something you'd be more up for. Sound good?

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean raised a hand, shaking his head. "Nope. No is not an answer I'll take."

"I really just don't feel comfortable. I mean, I appreciate it, I guess, but what I did was nothing. I really don't need ..."

Dean snorted. "I'm not doing it for you. My wife will kill me if you don't come. Plus, you seem like a pretty cool guy. I know Jules here thinks so."

Sam flushed and ducked his head. However, regardless of the embarrassment or hesitation, he remembered the woman from a few nights before and thought about the tears in her eyes as she thanked him. He looked at Dean, who stared back expectantly; he _wasn't_ about to take no for an answer. Sam sighed.

"Why do I feel like I don't have much of a say in the matter?"

"'Cause you don't." Dean slapped him on the shoulder now, again causing Sam to jump slightly as he craned his head up the sky with a sigh, mildly irritated with the gesture. Though off-putting, there was something oddly familiar about the gesture despite the fact that none of his friends in California ever really did it. "Thatta boy Sammy. She'll be happy to hear it." Dean replied, throwing his bar rag over his shoulder. "Here. Now get me your number so you can't back out on us."

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled a napkin from the bar, reaching for a pen as well as he scribbled more info down. "I'm pretty sure you already have it..."

"Well, better safe, ya know?" Dean took the napkin and folded it before stuffing it in his pocket. "You can either meet us down there, or meet at our place and we'll drive down together. Either way, it's a trip; they put on a pretty good fireworks show, and have some pretty good sand volleyball. I'll give you a call and iron it all out. I have some stuff to deal with in the back though now, so I bid you adieu." He stuck out his hand, and Sam took it, that out of place feeling returning in his gut. He avoided the other man's gaze.

Julie reappeared then, plate in hand and placed it down in front of Sam as Dean turned to head back in the back. "Hey, Dean,"

"Yeah?" The bartender stopped at the door to the back, craning his head to the man.

"It's Sam; not Sammy. If you don't mind."

A grin sprang onto the bartenders face, sly and smug. "'kay, Sammy. Whatever you say."

Sam sighed as the door swung after him as he disappeared in the back. Julie lifted another beer out of the cooler and wrenched the top open, placing it down for herself as Sam began to pick at his sandwich. "Now you've done it." She commented, a half smile on her face. She took a swig.

"Done what?"

She gestured toward the back with her head. "He's never gonna call you just "Sam" now. He knows it bugs you." She winked at him. "Welcome to the group."

Sam groaned.


	5. Chapter 5

The drive home on the night of the 4th was something that Sam was evidently not going to enjoy; the lanes on the interstate were backed up like mad, and his car was not moving. He sighed, leaning back against his headrest and closing his eyes. He should've taken the train. The thing was, it did give him some time to think. He reopened his eyes and put his hands on the steering wheel once more, wanting to be prepared in case something started up.

The day had started out normal enough. Sam had been iffy about actually going, and had considered calling in and canceling but he had a feeling he just couldn't shake. He wanted to hang out with the family...with Dean, and he wanted to be around people. The fact that he couldn't explain that desire had started him off feeling uneasy to begin with.

He seemed to take to the kids the best, which surprised him since he had been uneasy being left alone in the house with them the week before. The younger boy who shared his name had seemed to be partial to him almost immediately.

"You're a GIANT!" he'd exclaimed upon greeting Sam at the door, earning a reproving look from his mother. Sam had been unable to stifle a wide grin.

The girl had been quieter and more introverted for the first hour or so, but Sam had taken a seat in the back with her on the way to the lake. By the time they'd arrived, she had opened up to him about the doll she seemed to fiercely cling to, telling him stories of tea parties and how 'Ms. Molly Dolly' had dresses for every day of the week.

Sam was interested, but not surprised, that Zeke and Julie had joined along; he did find it strange, though, how the bar back who had acted so strangely toward him in the past had ducked out almost as soon as they'd arrived at the lake. He had seemed less than thrilled to see Sam when he'd appeared at the Johnson's home first thing that morning. It wasn't that he was hostile, by any means, just unusual. His body was stiff and he didn't turn to greet him right away. When he did, his eyes had only briefly met Sam's and his smile seemed forced and disingenuous. He seemed almost nervous and soon excused himself from the group, citing a need to get some things from his car. Dean watched him go with a curious expression but shrugged it off as he clapped Sam on the shoulder.

"He's like that with new people. You just gotta get to know him," Dean had reassured, before announcing that since the final guest had arrived, they were ready to go.

Once at the lake, Lily and Julie grabbed the kids to get them ready to swim after Zeke bailed for a few hours, set on visiting a cathedral downtown for post Sunday Mass before meeting back up later. Dean and Sam were relegated to unpacking the SUV packed with a few coolers and chairs, along with a cheap coal grill to use instead of the shoddy one the beach provided.

They'd begun grilling soon after that, and now that the children were all sun screened up and ready to go, Dean asked if he could bother him to take over the grilling while took a dip with them, unless he wanted to swim himself. Sam politely declined; swimming was his favorite exercise, and despite what he had used as an excuse, he loved swimming in lakes and oceans. The problem was that this was new territory, and new people, and they weren't his real friends; not yet at least. And he didn't want them to see him without his shirt, didn't want them to see the horrible scarring of his torso and ask questions he wasn't really ready to answer.

Dean, however, had no qualms about it. Sam hadn't had a warning though, and when Dean peeled off the t-shirt he was wearing and turned to throw it in his car, Sam had backed up quickly and tripped over a few collapsible chairs nearby. Dean hurried to him, helping him up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," He said with a laugh, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. "Look a little spooked there, Sammy. You okay?"

But Sam wasn't looking at his face; he was looking at his chest. It was patterned with scars, ranging from the length and width of a toothpick to thick tendrils like rope, bullet hole scars and stab wounds. It wasn't the marks that shocked him though, even the freaky handprint one on Dean's left shoulder. Dean didn't know that though; his eyes narrowed.

"Hey Winchester?" Dean asked, slightly sharp. "Look, I know, I didn't really warn you but...I mean, it's kind of rude to stare like that. They're just scars."

His tone and words seemed to shake him from his daze. "What? No, no, they're...they're not that bad. That's...I just fell. I'm feeling a little dumb is all." He straightened, dusting the sand from his jeans. He offered a half smile, and Dean regarded him strangely, as if he didn't really believe him, but he seemed to decide he didn't care because he took off toward the water and his family. Sam groaned inwardly.

Now, in his car (he moved, at least, even if it were only two or three car lengths), he rubbed the area just below his left collar bone absentmindedly with a deep sigh. The scars he hadn't minded; to be honest, a lot of them matched the kind of scars Sam had himself, save for the giant one in the center of his chest and upper back. No, it was something more familiar; identical really.

The tattoo that Dean had had, placed right under his left collarbone, was exactly like the one Sam did. Down to the size, placement and design. It was the same fuckin' thing, and while he knew tribal looking tattoos were cliché and common, for all the ones he'd ever seen a douchebag sporting, none of them had ever looked quite the same, let alone exact.

He had even done a little bit of research on in it, at least on the pentagram in the center of it, after Lindy had commented that Sam hadn't had that when she'd known him at Stanford. Which would mean he'd gotten it in the in between time, which he had no clue about. He couldn't really find much, just that it dealt with occult protection charms, which was fuckin' weird to him; he figured he just got drunk and stupid at some point, and thought it had looked cool.

But now Dean had it, and it was really eerie because some things are just too coincidental. He made a note that, once the man was done playing with his children and wife, he'd have to ask him about it. Right after he apologized for gaping at him like a lunatic.

Hours began to pass though. The food had been finished, and they cracked open a few beers and begun to socialize with a few of the families in the area; even with Zeke, who had returned to the sight just after 4, and seemed more settled in Sam's presence. It wasn't until later, as the sun started to set, that everyone seemed to settle down, eagerly awaiting the fireworks.

"You're helping Marco cover later right, Z? When you getting there?" Dean asked his friend.

"10. Just able to catch the fireworks." He smiled easily, and relaxed back in one of the chairs they'd unloaded earlier, a beer in one hand as a fire roared. Julie and Sam had both settled across from him; they had talked to each other a lot in the day, Dean being preoccupied with his wife and kids and Zeke gone, and had settled into a comfortable, easy acquaintance. He had discovered that she wasn't just a bartender, but also Lily's sister; and as they sat beside the fire, Zeke across from them and keeping to themselves, they somehow wandered onto the topic of Dean.

"It really is so nice of him to invite me along. I mean, I don't even know him really...but he seems to like me, I don't know." He rubbed the tops of his thighs with his palms. "It's just nice."

Julie smirked, stoking the fire with a long branch. She looked over at her sister and brother in law, Lily sitting between his legs and lazing against his chest as they talked and gazed up at the stars. The twins seemed to be equally enamored with the constellations.

"Dean kinda has a soft spot for newcomers. He was one himself not too long ago."

Sam heard Zeke shift in his seat, but paid him no attention. "Oh yeah? Did he move here or something like me?"

Her face screwed up; like she was unsure she should share. "Um...kinda?" She shrugged. "It's actually how they met," She said, nodding to the couple. "He woke up...around 10 years ago, at Chicago General. But...he was alone." She shifted. "He couldn't remember anything, and he was just...alone." She settled back, looking at Sam. "He knows what that feels like."

A chill had set over his body, despite the fire only feet away. "10 years ago?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. Weird, right? Just...out of nowhere, he was here. Johnson isn't even his name, not for sure." She shook her head with a scoff. "I can't believe i'm just telling you this. I mean, it's common knowledge among everyone we know...I guess you should probably know, just in case. Wouldn't want you to worry about saying something wrong."

"He doesn't remember anything? Like..." His mouth was dry. He took a deep swig of his beer. "Those scars? The weirdo tattoo...?"

"It is an interesting one, right? Or that handprint shoulder scar? I mean, what the hell right?" She shook her head, mimicking the beer swig. "But yeah, he doesn't really know anything. I think that's why he got a little short with you earlier."

"You heard that?"

She nodded. "He's kinda sensitive about it. It just...it bothers him. I mean, he has 10 years of his life, then nothing; he could have another family out there, or some other serious shit." She looked at him quizzically "Wouldn't it bother you?"

He looked at Dean, grinning as his wife rocked forward away from him in laughter. Dean was looking at her as if she were heaven itself, and when she turned around, oblivious to the adoration, he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. The little smile on his face told Sam it must have been an overly personal, probably sexual comment, judging by Dean's personality alone, and the returning smile and flush on her face confirmed it. And then she kissed him, softly and fleetingly, and his face was just so serene, that for some odd reason, Sam began to feel guilty. Out of place. As if this wasn't where he should be.

"Yeah. Yeah it would." He whispered, ducking his head down. When he brought it up, his stomach now a mess of nerves that threatened his gag reflex, Zeke was staring at him, a distant look in his eyes. Not totally unwelcome, but definitely not friendly.

Now, in hindsight, it was painfully obvious that something was not right about this entire situation. His car had finally cleared the traffic and headed home at a steady pace, his mind a million miles from the road. Julie had said that Dean was sensitive about the situation, and that was understandable, but the situation was just too much the same. He knew there was no way he could be in the same room with Dean and act like everything was fine, when he could feel like this was something else. The coincidences were too great, and he felt like if Dean knew of them, he would want to know too. A lot of people say the lie is better than the truth, but in this situation, there was no lie; only white emptiness, a void which could not be filled through friendship or success. He wanted to know who he was, or who he had been, and for the first time, in a long time, he wondered if he may have found someone who could help him figure that out.

Dean had mentioned he was working the day shift the next day, which he had off due to it being a federal holiday. He would stop by then, and order lunch, and bring it up casually to see if Dean would be okay to talk. Because he was certainly ready to listen.

* * *

Back in the city, Lily had run a bath for the kids and had left them in the bathroom to get in, leaving only to go talk with her husband. The day had been long and exciting, and it was long past their bed times, but it was the 4th and the fireworks had been worth the crowds. As she hit the landing of the townhome, her brow furrowed to see Dean slipping on his shoes.

"Where are you going? It's almost 11 o'clock at night, and we just got home."

He looked at her somberly. "Bars getting a little too much business apparently. Julie is in the guest room cause I think she may have had about 10 beers too many," He winked at his wife. "I told Zeke I'd come help. I guess we underestimated business, but it is a federal holiday tomorrow, so day off for everyone." He shrugged.

"So you're not gonna be home 'til late? Baby..." She sighed, her smile faltering. He grabbed her forearms and pulled her close, kissing her.

"Baby..." He mocked her playfully, pulling away. "I was supposed to work the day tomorrow, but Z said he'd take it. We can do something with the kids. It'll be nice."

"But I wanted to do something with _you_," She whispered, looking into his eyes. His brow shot up. He looked at the clock behind her on the mantle.

"Well, I have about 5 minutes I think I can spare..."

She laughed, swatting his backside. "Smart ass. You can just make it up to me tomorrow night."

He grabbed the side of her face. "Well, that I think I can handle." He smiled and pecked her on the lips once more before grabbing his watch from the side table and slipping it on. "I'll try and get out of there as soon as possible. I promise."

"Well, I'll try and wait up. Now go." She backed away from him. "If it's bad enough that Zeke had to call you in, then it must be ridiculous."

"We can hope." He shot her a dazzling smile. "I'll see you later babe. Love you!"

He was out the door before she had a chance to reply. She merely shook her head, and bolted back upstairs to be greeted with two wet, soapy four year olds. She led a charmed life.

After she had gotten them to bed and settled in-they practically passed out when their heads hit the pillows, bless their hearts-she decided she would wind down with a book and some coffee in the living room, having gotten out of the shower herself and not being much in the mood to sleep. She stopped by the guest room, opening the door just a bit to peer in and check on her sister. She was breathing, evident by the slight snores emanating from the bed. She bit her lip to keep from laughing; Julie's arms and legs were flung about, and her mouth hung wide open, a slight line of drool running down it. Her little sister was still in her late twenties and it wasn't unusual for her to get a little over served on holidays. As long as she had gotten home with them safely, she didn't really care. She closed the door all the way, intending to keep from disturbing her as she moved around the ground floor of the home.

She ended up on the couch in the living room, infomercials quietly playing in the background as she dug into a new Jodi Picoult novel she had received for Mother's day months before. She thought, too, of the day they'd had together; about how happy her family made her and even of Sam, the new family friend that had come into their life so suddenly, and become a bit of fixture among them.

She felt so very blessed.

The wind picked up outside, and she frowned as she heard the back door swinging and slamming shut. She had asked Dean to fix it weeks before, but he was so busy with the bar and its flourishing success, he had apparently not gotten the chance to do it. She groaned to herself and pushed up from the sofa to head toward the back porch. As she left the room, she didn't notice as the television began to crackle and fuzz with snow, before shutting off completely. The lights in the kitchen flickered as well, but she paid it no mind; this was an older townhome, and sometimes it happened. She made a mental note to call an electrician in the morning.

She turned on the porch light and opened the wooden door inside of the screen, surprised to find that the leaves on the trees hung still; there was no wind at all. She stepped out onto the porch, wondering if maybe it was just an unusual gust. The street light a block over flickered just outside the corner of her eye and she turned. She saw a bush in their small yard shuffle, but there was still no wind. Her heart leapt.

She reached her hand for the screen door, gripping the handle tightly as her heart began to race, and she ran her free hand through her hair. "Hello?" She asked softly. "Is there someone there?"

The bush moved again, and she saw it then; a woman, younger looking but slight in build; in the dark, she couldn't quite make out her face. She swallowed. "Is everything alright?"

"Is Dean home?" The girl asked, and Lily realized she couldn't have been more than 21. She swallowed again and began to shake. Why was some young girl asking about her husband?

Maybe she had applied as a waitress or something. She needed to get back inside where she was safe. "No, he's...he's working. You can go by his bar...it's called the Devil's Trap, it's about 8 blocks..."

The girl interrupted her with a laugh that sounded harsh, and more like a cackle than anything. "The Devil's Trap? Are you serious?" She snorted. "And they said he'd forgotten everything. I'll pass, thanks; my kind tends to avoid Devil's Traps."

"It's not a religious reference or anything," Lily bristled, mostly because she had had to defend the name plenty as she attended church. Dean had just found the name clever, and interesting, and when she'd suggested something different, he had looked like she had suggested he shoot his puppy or something. He was so proud of his bar.

The girl moved closer now, slowly, and Lily backed up, stepping inside the home and slamming the door shut fast and holding it. The girl moved fast now, to the stairs.

"Oh Lily, that won't keep you safe." She whispered, now at the door. The girl blinked, and in the porch light, Lily saw her eyes turn pitch black.

She didn't even have a chance to scream.


End file.
